


Every Other Day

by Angelology



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: GTA AU, M/M, dumb idiots and nice neighbours who bring cheesecake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelology/pseuds/Angelology
Summary: In the crew, Ryan doesn’t really interact with Gavin. So one day, when Gavin turns up at Ryan’s doorstep, bleeding, it’s quite the surprise. Especially considering that his identity as the Vagabond remains unknown to the crew.The bigger surprise is when Gavin keeps on turning up after that, becoming a constant visitor within Ryan’s life, and the separation between Ryan and the Vagabond suddenly becomes much harder to balance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Annnd hello again, whoops it's been a while :')

Since Ryan Haywood moved to Achievement City a month ago, life has been pretty great.

He’s joined the Fake AH Crew, the ruling gang of the city, and gets along with pretty much all of them. They’re not the most brutal crew Ryan’s ever met, but they’re skilled at what they do and they place nothing before the crew, and it’s clear that they intend to - and probably will - stay at the top.

Not to mention he’s got a nice little apartment that’s only a ten minute drive away from the base, and has lovely neighbours who bring him lemon and carrot cakes on Tuesdays and cookies on Sundays.

The neighbours, of course, have no idea that Ryan Haywood is the Vagabond, the newest addition to the biggest crew in the city. No one knows, actually. Not even in the crew. To the crew, he is just _Vagabond_ who wears a mask around wherever he goes. He doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have a face. Just his reputation, his mask, and the name  _Vagabond._

 _Besides_ , he thinks as he looks down at his black runners which he’s put on to go out for his Monday grocery shopping, because he hasn’t been called in for the crew until Wednesday, _who would expect the Vagabond to wear these?_

So, naturally, when he steps out of his apartment building and looks up from his phone as he walks out the door, he gets one hell of a surprise.

Gavin Free is crouching behind the row of bushes that are just slightly behind a sign for the apartment, concealing himself from the road. Ryan doesn’t recognise him at first - his hair is messy, his jeans dirty. His back is to Ryan, but he turns immediately when he hears Ryan’s approach.

Alright, what the _fuck._

Gavin is the man behind the scenes in the crew. Ryan hears him a lot more than he sees him - usually the other is relaying information over an earpiece to them as they’re doing jobs. On the rare occasion that Ryan actually does see him, he’s dressed like a perfect little rich boy, and Ryan has no idea what to make of him other than that.

So for someone who is always behind the scenes, for someone who Ryan has never seen out in the field, who has never looked anything less than _perfect_ when Ryan has seen him, it is certainly surprising to see him hiding out at the front of his apartment.

Ryan’s eyes dart to the gun Gavin’s holding in a tight grip, and his eyes narrow. Why the fuck _is_ Gavin at his fucking apartment with a gun in his hands? Surely, he isn’t here for Ryan - he can’t know, he _doesn’t_ know. There’s no way he does, surely.

Because Gavin may be the crew’s hacker, may be able to find things out of seemingly _nothing,_ but Ryan has been so, so precariously careful in keeping Ryan Haywood and the Vagabond as two completely separate existences.

But there’s a flicker of doubt, a stone sinking in his stomach, because Gavin Free is quite observant, after all - it's his _job_ to track down people. If anyone would figure it out, it would probably be him, right?

Gavin’s eyes widen slightly, and he gestures for Ryan to go back inside the building. It settles the stone in his stomach, because if Gavin had known, he wouldn't be gesturing for Ryan to go back inside.

 _Still not on,_ he thinks, because he sure as hell wants to know what’s brought Gavin Free to his doorstep. In hiding. _With a gun._ Besides, he’s _really_ not too eager to have a gunfight out the front of his apartment. He's also really not up to being questioned by police, and besides, his neighbours really don’t deserve the hassle.

He crouches down slightly, approaching Gavin, who watches him warily, but makes no other moves.

“What are you _doing?”_ Ryan hisses, once he’s close enough.

“Hide and seek,” Gavin replies, so nonchalantly that it completely catches him off guard.  

Ryan takes a moment, thinks _what the fuck_ , and frowns. “Look, I’m pretty sure hide and seek doesn’t involve guns.”

Gavin snorts, but carefully checks through the bushes again before replying. “This is extreme hide and seek. It’s the next Olympic sport.”

“Right, with guns?” Ryan questions, and Gavin just shoots him a sheepish smile and a shrug, but doesn't respond beyond that.

Ryan quickly glances him over. Split lip, red marks around his neck. He notices one of Gavin’s arms is firmly pressed against his stomach, fingers digging into his side. There’s blood on his fingers.

He can’t help it. He worries. He might not interact with the other man much, but he’s part of the crew nonetheless. Besides, if he gets killed then Geoff, and really, the rest of the crew, are going to be unbearable to deal with. Especially if it happened all at Ryan’s doorstep.

“Look, it’s really best that you get back inside,” Gavin warns, eyes darting between the bush and to Ryan.

“Not happening. What’s going on?” Ryan persists, tone going hard. It’s not quite the same as his Vagabond voice, but he thinks it’s terrifying enough.

“Just a bit of fun, don’t worry about it,” Gavin tries to brush him off again, gun gesturing back into the building.

Distantly, Ryan hears sirens. Gavin tenses, checking through the bushes again, and his shoulders sag a little.

“Damn,” he mutters, Ryan only just catching it. “It's going to be a long day.”

 _You're telling me_ , Ryan thinks as he tries to peer out, but Gavin places an arm across his chest, stopping him.

“Really,” he says, smiling charmingly, “it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure the police will help.”

Police definitely do not equal _help._ Definitely not in their work. Ryan has to wonder just what the fuck is happening.

“You’re in trouble,” Ryan states. “The police are useless, they’re not going to help.” He’s about two seconds away from just grabbing Gavin’s arm and hauling him inside, all things considered.

“You’re not wrong,” Gavin mutters in response, but the grin returns, eyebrow raising suggestively. “I’ll sort it out. My charms can work on anyone, after all.”

“I think you’re having an off day then,” Ryan retorts, but it has him wondering again just why Gavin is out in the field in the first place. He’s rarely ever out by himself, usually being accompanied by Michael or Jeremy.

Gavin just shakes his head, looking amused, but doesn’t reply. Ryan waits another moment, peering out through the bushes as Gavin does, and spots the black convertible slowly driving down the street, windows down as the men obviously scan for something.  

When Ryan catches sight of the driver, he knows Gavin is in a pretty shit position. He recognises the man from one of the dealings where Ryan had to stand by and act as bodyguard for Jack - he’s a member of a bigger crew in the city who’s _very_ interested in Geoff’s property. Particularly in setting it alight and making it go _boom_.

The crew is dangerous, and has been causing headaches for Geoff all month. Destroying property, killing people Geoff’s allied with, and actively hunting down as many members of the crew as possible - they’re causing to be a bigger hole than the FAHC first thought.

He decides it’s probably about time to grab Gavin’s arm and haul him inside. So he does as soon as the vehicle is further down the street, Gavin letting out an indignant noise as Ryan begins pulling him into the building.

“What the bloody hell?” Gavin rushes out, stumbling along behind Ryan. Grabbing the arm that was holding the gun was not Ryan’s best idea in hindsight, but Gavin has thankfully not fired off anything.

Ryan doesn’t reply, just guides Gavin inside the building and into the elevator, quickly shutting the doors before he removes his grip from the arm.

He presses his floor button, then glances back over at Gavin again. Gavin’s grip is still tight around his midsection, and there’s blood seeping through his fingers, the movement having aggravated it.

Gavin leans against the side of the wall, but doesn’t relax properly, watching Ryan warily. Ryan doesn’t mind, and is frankly more concerned about the way that Gavin has quickly lost most of the colour in his face.

“I think this counts as kidnapping,” Gavin mutters, but Ryan ignores it - he isn’t pointing the gun, which means he isn’t taking this whole ‘kidnapping’ situation as a serious threat at least.

“Get shot?” Ryan asks, and Gavin just huffs, apparently amused by the question.

“Not quite. Got punched,” Gavin replies, breath catching as the elevator stops with a jerk once it reaches Ryan’s floor. It’s an old thing, broken down once already while Ryan’s been in it, and Ryan hopes it doesn’t decide to break down again.

Thankfully, the doors open, and Ryan strides out into the hallway with Gavin following behind.

“A punch did that?” Ryan questions as he fishes out his swipe key from his back pocket.

“With some mingin’ spiked brass knuckles, yeah, it sure did,” Gavin mutters. Ryan winces, covering the expression from Gavin by unlocking his door. He swings it open, gesturing for Gavin to walk in.  
  
Gavin hesitates. “Is this yours?”

“No, I have a key from some guy named Edgar who actually owns the place,” Ryan responds, exasperated. Gavin apparently misses the sarcasm.

“He won’t appreciate me being in here, then, will he?” Gavin retorts, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“It’s mine, for God’s sake. Welcome to my humble abode,” Ryan says, and Gavin gives Ryan a wary glance before walking in. He’s a lot more guarded now, more alert than in the elevator, taking in his surroundings quickly.

And Ryan promptly realises he may have left some of his Vagabond get up lying about. After all, he sure as shit didn’t expect any visitors - the neighbours don’t come around until tomorrow to visit.

He quickly scans the room himself, and sighs a little in relief when he hasn’t left anything lying about. It’s shoved hazardously into his closet, he remembers, and hopes Gavin doesn’t go snooping.

“You know, you probably shouldn’t be letting random people bleed all over your floor,” Gavin says, pointedly looking down at the blood that’s now dripping from his fingers.

“Right, right, bathroom,” Ryan hurries out, pushing open the door for it. It’s small, his apartment being nothing luxurious, and gestures for Gavin to sit on the edge of the combined shower and bathtub.

Ryan takes out the med kit, checking that he has what he needs, and it begins to dawn on him just how _strange_ this whole situation really is. He dwells for a moment, hands lingering over the bandages, and thinking _oh Jesus fucking Christ what have I gotten myself into here -_

He forces himself to stop, to take a deep breath, because Gavin’s part of the crew and he’s injured and he’s also bleeding all over Ryan’s tiles. He picks up a towel, turning around to face Gavin.

“Shirt,” Ryan prompts, and Gavin hesitates before he carefully pulls it off. Ryan’s breath catches a little at the sight of the wound - there’s four puncture marks, bleeding sluggishly, but they’re thankfully not as deep as Ryan was imagining.

“How long ago was this?” Ryan asks, crouching down in front of Gavin and applying firm pressure to the wound that’s right below his ribs.

“Maybe twenty minutes? Seriously, though, do you bring every guy you meet back to yours, or am I just one of the lucky ones?” Gavin pesters, and Ryan sighs.

“Hopefully this will stop bleeding in a minute, I think movement just aggravated it,” Ryan dodges, and Gavin’s hands move to press against the towel himself. The towels are discolouring from their slightly-off ugly cream colour - and they came like that, okay, Ryan hasn’t really gone decor shopping yet. At least now Gavin bleeding all over them gives him a reason to.

There’s silence, and Ryan figures Gavin is applying enough pressure on his own. He moves to stand up, glancing at Gavin’s face. He looks tired, under the bright light, shadows under his eyes and his shoulders slumped. Dried blood on his chin, his chest. The marks on his neck getting darker and darker.

_This is a fucking weird day._

“Do you want some ice for the - uh.” Gavin glances up, and Ryan gestures at his own neck. Gavin’s smile flitters, but he shakes his head.

“Nothing a scarf can’t hide,” he replies.

“It’s _hot_ outside _,”_ Ryan points out.

Gavin smiles a little again. “Point. Concealer it is then.”

“And the lip?”

“It’s stopped bleeding, hasn’t it? It’ll be right,” Gavin brushes off, leaving Ryan standing there with nothing to really do.

He lingers anyway, because he’s really still not sure that Gavin won’t bolt for it the second he gets the chance. He’s tired, but Ryan can see that the other is still guarded, still ready to run. He washes his hands, some of the blood having gotten on him when he applied the towel.

Eventually, Gavin slowly eases off the pressure of the towel, grimacing as the fibers stick to the blood.

“That’s gross,” he grumbles, poking at his stomach the second that Ryan has taken the towel and thrown it in the corner, because he’s definitely throwing it the fuck out as soon as possible.

“Don’t poke it! Jesus Christ, don’t make it start bleeding again,” Ryan warns, and Gavin smiles sheepishly at him.

Ryan inspects it, and the punctures are, thankfully, not bleeding now.

“You need to wash it,” Ryan tells him, and then looks at his shower. Gavin shakes his head.

“I appreciate the help, I really do, but I should be getting out of your hair now,” Gavin responds, moving to stand up. Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder - his very _bare_ shoulder, Jesus Christ, what is his life - to stop him.

“If you walk out of my apartment, covered in blood, my neighbours will probably not feel inclined to bring me cheesecakes on Tuesdays anymore,” Ryan argues, and Gavin’s shoulders sag.

“Look, just wash it under the water, alright? Don’t make it too hot though,” Ryan instructs, sensing he won the argument, and getting into his drawers to pull out a new towel and washcloth. “And be gentle, I would rather avoid having blood stain my shower.”

 _It’s a hell of a bitch to scrub out properly,_ Ryan adds mentally, remembering all the times he has had to do so.

“Okay,” is all Gavin says, cautiously standing up. “I’ll bandage it up myself, I’ve done this before.”

Ryan nods, because of course he has, they _all_ have had to lick their own wounds - it happens less nowadays, in the crew, because they have Jack and Caleb for help. But sometimes it’s unavoidable, sometimes they’re stuck bandaging and stitching themselves alone.

“I'll get you a clean shirt,” Ryan offers, picking up the bloody shirt from the floor and only lingering for a moment before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

He has enough confidence that Gavin will at least take the shower instead of climbing out the window. Besides, he's a few floors up, so the climb down probably, _hopefully,_ isn't worth it.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, taking a deep breath once he hears the shower turn on, _this is fucking - Jesus Christ, Gavin is showering in my bathroom. What the fuck._

Ryan throws the shirt into the bin, reminding himself to take it down to the garbage skip as soon as possible. Then goes into his room with the intent of finding a shirt that might fit Gavin. All of them, he figures, will probably be a little bit too big - but it’s better than being bloody at least. He finds a faded black shirt, hoping the colour will hide any blood that might get onto it.

He walks back to the bathroom door, placing the shirt outside the door, before walking to the small kitchen area and getting himself a Diet Coke

Gradually sipping at it, he ends up staring down a wall, lost in thought until he hears the shower turn off. He lets out a sigh of relief, satisfied that Gavin has not, in fact, climbed out the window.

“Shirt’s outside the door,” Ryan calls out, but gets no response. He doesn’t mind, though, just walks over to his small television set before turning it on, trying to distract himself from the whole strange situation.

Eventually the bathroom door opens, and Ryan just glances over in time to see Gavin bending over to get the shirt, midsection thankfully bandaged. He looks away before Gavin catches his glance, trying to appear like he’s interested in whatever the fuck is happening on the screen.

The door shuts gently again, and it’s about another ten minutes before Gavin opens the door again. When Ryan glances over this time, he catches Gavin’s eyes.

The shirt is a little too big, but not too bad, Ryan notices first. Then he notices Gavin’s hair that’s towel dried in all different directions - a stark contrast to the usual perfect quiff he sees the man with.

“You know,” Gavin says, snapping Ryan effectively out of his staring, “My eye was saved from being punched out at the cost of my sunglasses. My very nice, very expensive sunglasses, mind you.”

Ryan isn’t sure how to respond to that. So he doesn’t, just waits in silence - prompting Gavin to talk more.

“So I thought, y’know, this day was going to be absolutely buggering awful. Like, on top of everything, my sunglasses decided to kick the bucket. Well, I guess they didn’t really decide if someone else punched them-” Gavin cuts himself off after Ryan raises his eyebrow, amused.

“Right, anyway, I guess it was a nice turnaround of events and uh, thanks for helping.” He sounds sincere, which is just now even weirder because Ryan knows, from the few times he’s seen Gavin - overconfident, cocky, _too good with words -_ that he wears a mask, just like the rest of them. Builds it up with his confidence and his smooth talk until the words out of everyone’s mouths are basically controlled by him.

So this - this a complete difference. To be rambling on and sincerely thanking Ryan. _It’s nice,_ he thinks. Even if perhaps, he thinks suddenly, it’s just acting to console the “poor civilian” that got dragged into the mess.

But there’s something that tugs at Ryan with that thought, not quite sitting right. That, maybe, _perhaps_ he’s not acting right now.

“No problem,” is all that Ryan can think of to say.

“Also I uh - would like to admit I wasn’t just hiding from that gang. But also the police. So cheers for not calling them,” Gavin continues, looking sheepish.

“I gathered, so yeah, no problem.” Ryan waves him off, ready to end the conversation there.

Gavin takes a moment, then glares at Ryan. “Why the bloody _hell_ are you letting fugitives into your house?” He demands, pointing a finger at Ryan in accusation.

“You needed help,” Ryan replies simply, amused as Gavin flounders around, flabbergasted for a moment.

“I could’ve hurt you! Or robbed you! Killed you! Turned you over to the gang, for crying out loud!”

“You were injured, it was a measured risk,” Ryan reasons, and Gavin just drops the finger and glares more.

“I still could have hurt you!” Gavin argues, and Ryan resists the urge to let out a loud laugh, settling for an amused huff. _Doubt it._

“Look, the police are as corrupt as the fugitives in this town, I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing. As long as you’re not here to actually rob me or try to hurt me, I don’t care. Besides, you’re a stick, who is still injured, and you wouldn’t do _shit,"_ Ryan answers, and Gavin just glances down at himself, seeming to take it into account.

Ryan’s never actually seen Gavin in action, but he’s pretty sure someone who works behind the scenes on all the technology and smooth-talks for deals isn’t going to overpower the _Vagabond,_ for crying out loud.

“Still, you shouldn’t be letting bleeding men into your apartment,” Gavin concedes, and Ryan shrugs.

“Then I’ll leave you outside the next time while I go and happily get my groceries.” Ryan waves whatever Gavin is about to say off next.

“You’re welcome to get any food or drink or whatever,” Ryan gestures to his small, shitty kitchen - and oh _boy_ the shit he would get if any of the crew found out just how bad the _Vagabond’s_ mini-fridge was at regulating its temperature.

“Cheers, but I’m alright. I can get out of your hair now, I’m all fixed up.” Gavin shoots him a thumbs up and a big grin. “Thanks, again.”

Ryan nods, watching as Gavin awkwardly side steps to the door. He wants to make sure the other is definitely alright, but he knows they’ve all had much, much worse, and they all pull through.

Gavin waves sheepishly as he opens the door, and when he closes it, Ryan is left suddenly feeling a whole lot lonelier in his shitty little apartment.

 

* * *

 

Susan and Glenys come over the next day, bearing cheesecakes.

Ryan invites them in, as he always does, makes all three of them tea as they eat the cheesecakes. They tut about Ryan’s fridge, and his too-many microwavable meals that he got at the grocery store the night before.

Ryan’s just glad they didn’t see the bloodied shirt, or the shower which now has a few more reddish brown stains added to it.

“We hear you had someone over yesterday,” Susan says, asking with a too-innocent voice that has Ryan’s alarm up immediately.

“A friend,” Ryan remarks, trying to brush it off.

“Honey, you haven’t had _anyone_ visit you other than us. Surely someone like you would be bringing home some more people?” Glenys prods, and Ryan sighs.

“New city, I don’t know anyone. He’s just an acquaintance,” Ryan answers, trying to shove cheesecake in his mouth to prevent them asking anything else.

It doesn’t work.

“Who apparently used your shower, it seems,” Susan pipes up, grinning mischievously.

_How do you even know this._

“Oh, we know things,” Glenys says, answering Ryan’s unspoken question and yep, that’s it, Ryan’s gone up against some of the most terrifying men in the country, has fought with his bare-knuckles against some ruthless killers, and yet they have _nothing_ on nosey old ladies.

Ryan throws his hands up in surrender. “He spilled some coffee on his shirt, that’s all.”

“Mhm,” they say together, clearly unconvinced as they take another sip of their tea in sync.

And Ryan loves them, he does, he loves the chats and the cheesecakes and the cookies, but he’s also now terrified of them.

“He was cute, don’t you think, Glenys?” Susan asks, turning to the other.

Glenys laughs. “Very, I hope we see him around again.”

They both turn and look at Ryan, grinning, and Ryan just sighs again. He was doing his best to try and ignore just how weird the whole situation with Gavin was - doesn’t want to think about it until he has to, when he sees the other in just another day, when they’re all in for a crew meeting and _shit. Alright._

“Unfortunately, I believe it was only a one-time visit,” Ryan tells them, sincerely believing it.

They still appear unconvinced, but nod sympathetically. Ryan just gets another slice of cheesecake, and tries his best not to think of the idea that Gavin’s visit had, actually, been rather interesting. Tries to believe he’s not disappointed at the thought of Gavin not coming around again.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan walks into the base on Wednesday, two days after the incident with Gavin, and notices that the other man is not around.

It’s usual, of course, not to see the other. Besides, what was he going to say to him if he saw him anyway? _Hey, by the way, thanks for the visit._ Maybe, he muses, just to see Gavin’s reaction.

Jeremy and Michael are around, going over some plans for a hit together, and also raiding the fridge. Ryan passes by the kitchen right as Michael takes a swig straight from the orange juice carton.

“You _animal!”_ Jeremy declares, having witnessed the act as well. Ryan pauses, watching in amusement.

“What?” Michael asks, once he’s put the juice away again.

“We all drink from that!” Jeremy replies, stammering in disbelief.

“And? We all piss in the same place as well,” Michael reasons, and Jeremy just heavily sighs.

“I am never drinking anything from here again,” he says. Michael snickers.

“More beer for me then.”

“You’re a fucking animal, Michael Jones,” Jeremy says, and Michael just laughs.

“You’ve never called me that for taking down other people, for getting blood everywhere, or just generally blowing shit up, but suddenly _I’m_ a horrible person for drinking some orange juice? You’re fucking weird, Dooley,” Michael replies, and Jeremy just slumps dramatically over the counter.

“Gav would agree with me,” Jeremy grumbles, Ryan catching it just as he’s about to walk out of earshot. He stops, out of sight, listening. _This is stupid, why are you eavesdropping on this._ He doesn’t have an answer for himself.

“Gav doesn’t fucking _count,_ I’m sure he has his own little fridge down there. Also, he was the one who stole your half-eaten bag of pretzels.”

Jeremy gasps. “That little _thief._ But speaking of, did you see him this morning?”

“Sure did,” Michael replies, his tone a bit softer now.

_So he is around today._

“One hell of a shiner on his lip,” Jeremy comments, and Michael hums.

“He said his job went ‘tits up’. Patched himself up.”

_So they don’t know about his help._

Jeremy huffs. “That sucks.” A moment. “I thought he wasn’t meant to be in the field this week?”

Michael thinks for a few seconds. “I think you’re right, his next deal is with me next week for Ridgewell.”

“Maybe he started another bar fight,” Jeremy reasons.   
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Michael agrees, but doesn’t sound too convinced. The topic is dropped after that, and Ryan realises he’s now five minutes late for his meeting with Geoff.

He hurries along to the meeting, where his mind ends up preoccupied of wondering just what the hell Gavin was doing on that Monday evening.

 

* * *

 

Gavin visits him that afternoon.

He’s already waiting out the front when Ryan pulls up with his motorbike, parking it in the garage with Gavin trailing behind. He’s now very glad he switches out his Vagabond getup for more casual riding gear (the _fright_ his neighbours wouldn’t receive if he didn’t...) but is now very aware of the mask that is sitting at the top of his backpack.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve brought a gang attack to my apartment,” is the first thing Ryan says once he pulls off his helmet.

Gavin gasps, affronted. “Of course not!”

“You did last time, it’s a fair assumption,” Ryan accuses, and Gavin just folds his arms.

“Well, it’s a _mean_ assumption.”

“Why are you here?” Ryan asks, suspicious.

“I just came to visit. And to uh, give you this.”

Gavin shoulders off his own backpack, and Ryan remains cautious as the other unzips it. It changes to surprise the second Gavin pulls out the first item.

“Sorry for ruining your towel, I thought I might owe you a new one.” Gavin passes it over, and Ryan immediately feels how ridiculously soft it is, how good the quality is, and realises it’s much more expensive than he would ever dare to spend on a towel.

“I was going to get you a shirt as well, but I wasn’t sure on styling.”

Ryan doesn’t know what to do. He’s just standing, holding a ridiculously, stupid, fluffy white towel in his grasp. With Gavin Free staring expectantly at him.

“I.. Thanks?” Is what comes out, and Gavin thankfully ignores the way it sounds like a question.

“I mean, at least I can now see you actually have some style,” Gavin teases, “Seriously, what was with those jeans the other day! And the _shoes!_ Those were absolutely _horrendous.”_

“Hey!” Is all Ryan can defend himself with, because they’re _comfortable, alright._

“Glad to see I don’t need to get you new shoes as well at least. I like these a lot more,” Gavin continues, glancing down at Ryan’s boots. His _Vagabond_ boots. Ryan really, really hopes Gavin isn’t paying too close of attention to them. He likes them as well, and doesn’t really want to have to replace them.

“Are you just here to insult my wardrobe,” Ryan asks, and Gavin gives him an exasperated look, head tilted slightly.

“I was here to be _nice,_ thank you.”

“I think I’m going to go put on those shoes now,” Ryan says, making his voice as serious as he can.

“Absolutely not, I’m going to _burn_ the bloody things. Or bleed all over _those_ next time.” Gavin glares challengingly at him, which really isn’t all that threatening considering that his head is still tilted to the side. It just manages to remind Ryan of a confused puppy.

“Do you intend to come back to my doorstep bleeding again?” Ryan asks, and Gavin immediately goes sheepish.

“I don’t intend to go buying you new towels, no,” Gavin replies, gesturing to the one in Ryan’s hand.

 _Although_ , if it gives Ryan free, better quality and expensive furniture, he’s not sure he should be complaining.

“That wasn’t a direct answer,” is what Ryan says instead.

“Can never promise anythin’.” Gavin shrugs a little, which does now make Ryan concerned that Gavin has actually turned up to him bleeding again.

“You’re not currently bleeding, right?” Ryan asks, just to be sure.  
  
“Only inside my body,” Gavin replies, grinning.

“So you have internal bleeding? Great, even better.”

Gavin’s grin is immediately wiped, and it takes him a moment to figure out Ryan is joking. His head just rolls backwards and he lets out a groan. “I cannot believe this.”

“You’re telling the guy who got his towel bled all over,” Ryan remarks, and Gavin just groans again.

“I got you a new one, for Christ’s sake! It’s a much nicer colour too!”

“You’re right about that,” Ryan relents, and Gavin’s head lolls back to normal again. The smile is back too.

“Well, I best be off, I wasn’t meant to leave work,” Gavin says, and Ryan’s eyebrows furrow.

“How did you guess I’d be home at this time?” _Even I didn’t know._

“With jeans and shoes like that, you’re bound to have a boring 9-5 job, right?” Gavin asks, and Ryan takes his phone out to check the time. Nearly 5:30PM now, meaning a lucky coincidence he actually finished the meeting around 5.

“Of course, what else would I be doing, after all?” Ryan laughs. _Yep, that’s right, I’m a totally ordinary office guy. Nothing suspicious going on here._

Gavin looks slightly confused at Ryan’s reply - _okay, maybe I should’ve just said yes -_ he moves the topic. “You could have just mailed this.”

“I didn’t remember what number you were,” Gavin admits, a charming smile on his face. “Besides, it was worth seeing you in something other than a fashion crime.”

“304,” Ryan says, without thinking. He realises his mistake, but it’s quickly followed by the realisation that he doesn’t actually mind. Besides, Gavin could probably find his way to the correct room if he really had wanted to anyway. “Stop insulting my wardrobe!” He adds.

Gavin just laughs, then puts his backpack back on. “I’ll see you around, then,” is his parting, as he turns around.

“I suppose so,” is Ryan’s reply, watching as the other walks away.

 

* * *

 

Ryan has no idea why, on Saturday, he goes out with the intent on finding some sunglasses.

He has perfectly fine sunglasses. Ones Gavin couldn’t insult, probably. But they’re not for himself, anyway, they’re for Gavin - which is the part that even he can’t properly figure.

He reasons with himself that he’s paying back some small cost of the towel. Which has lead him into deciding to indulge in some more nicer towels, because the difference in quality is pretty heavenly. But surely Gavin has the money to go buy some new sunglasses anyway, right, so why the hell is Ryan driving to the shops to go buy him some probably mediocre ones anyway -

He has no answer, but here he is, standing in front of a sunglasses rack. Trying to find a pair that reflect _Gavin,_ in any way. He goes from store to store, trying to find some.

The downtime is making him go crazy, he thinks. Jobs are few for him at the moment, as everything seems to be annoying peaceful within the city. Even the meeting with Geoff hadn’t really brought on any new jobs.

It’ll change soon, he knows, the calm before the storm. There’s too many gangs rising, too many leaders getting arrogant, too many freelancers becoming a real danger. But right now, it’s still the _calm,_ and it’s left Ryan going to the shops on a Saturday to go find some sunglasses.

Ridiculous _._ What is his life coming to.

He almost gives up, when he spots a pair that catches his eye. Gold on the hinges and temples - cheap, but shiny regardless. It’s thick, looking like four individual squares on each side, with the rest of the frames a dark purple.

It looks strangely close enough to a ‘structure’ that he remembers the crew having built before Ryan joined. Using cargobobs to stack golden painted port-a-potties on top of one black one, all on top of the roof of an art museum. Ryan doesn’t remember what they called it, despite it being in headlines, but he’s pretty sure it was as obnoxious as the tower itself.

He buys them anyway, despite how ridiculous they look.

 

* * *

 

When he’s called back in for work on Monday - just another crew meeting to discuss the alliance with Fischbach, he notices Gavin sitting at the table.

He’s typing away at a laptop as Geoff talks, and he’s focused enough that he doesn’t seem to take notice of Ryan’s stare.

He’s dressed up, looking as perfect as ever for the crew, and Ryan doesn’t quite know what to think. Having now seen Gavin, fresh out of his own goddamn shower, with unstyled hair and messier clothes, it seems _different_.

Before, he didn’t take all that much notice of what Gavin wore. Just chalked it up to him playing his role as the rich, perfect boy for Geoff Ramsey, and left it at that. He didn’t really care. He doesn’t know why he’s caring _now,_ suddenly.

Doesn’t know why he’s trying to imagine Gavin back in his shirt and with his hair down and looking more relaxed. Gavin’s presence is completely different, he thinks, from here and at his apartment.

At the apartment, he seemed more _real._ Human-like. Touchable, breakable. Easy banter and teasing, Gavin missing some of his smooth-talking edge that he uses for clients. Here, at the base, he seems unreal. Plastic and fake. Untouchable and unbreakable.

Gavin’s presence ends up distracting Ryan enough that he ends up walking out of the meeting having absolutely no idea what was said basically the entire time. Gavin lingers behind, and Ryan does his best not to hover around.

_This whole situation is absolutely ridiculous._

 

* * *

 

Wednesday, Ryan’s home.

Still nothing to do, really, so he spends the day playing games. Thankfully, there’s a job for him on Friday, and it’ll hopefully also occupy his Thursday with getting ready for it.

He’s heating up one of those pre-made frozen meals when his apartment buzzer starts going off.

“If Daryl forgot his bloody keys _again…”_ he grumbles to himself, already expecting to hear Daryl’s sheepish voice once he accepts the call.

Instead, he’s surprised by the chirpy “Ello! 304, right?”

_Gavin._

“Are you bleeding?” Ryan asks, skeptical.

“What? _No,_ I’m not bloody bleeding!” Gavin protests, and Ryan sighs a little in relief.

“Then why are you buzzing my apartment?”

“Because I want to come up, why else?”

“Why the hell do you want to come up?”

“Oh my Christ, can you just come down here and let me up? I can’t get into the building.”

Ryan huffs, ending the call, and goes to find his swipe key. _What the hell is happening._

He still doesn’t know, even as he comes downstairs and lets Gavin up with him and back into his apartment.

Why the hell he’s letting Gavin back into his apartment, he’s not exactly sure. He can’t ask, as Gavin takes over the conversation by talking about how he met some of Ryan’s neighbours while waiting.

“So,” Ryan says, once Gavin eventually finishes, “What brings you here, if you’re not bleeding?”

“You didn’t want me turning up at your doorstep bleeding, but yet it’s your first expectation,” Gavin counters, and Ryan rolls his eyes as he opens the microwave. His meal has finished cooking and he takes it out, letting it cool on the counter.

“Well, excuse me, but I’m not exactly used to a random guy I’ve managed to pick up off the streets coming back for house-visits,” Ryan replies, peeling back the plastic.

“I’m not your bloody prostitute,” Gavin complains, making himself comfortable on the couch.

“Then what good are you?” jokes Ryan, getting a fork out and joining him.

“That looks _mingin’,”_ Gavin gags, gesturing at the food. “Honestly, what the bloody hell is half of that? Is that mashed potato? Oh my god, it _is._ That doesn’t looked like mashed potato at _all!”_

“Hey, leave me and my food alone.” Ryan turns the meal away from Gavin, pulling a childish face at him.

“That is _not_ food!” The other exclaims, pointing at it with disgust.

“You come into my home, you insult my food-”

“It’s not bloody food!” Gavin interrupts, throwing up his hands. “Honestly, _shameful.”_

 _Like you probably don’t live on two minute noodles when you hole up at work,_ Ryan thinks, shaking his head a little.

“I really actually hope you didn’t just come over to insult my food,” Ryan prods, and Gavin glances over before shrugging.

“I realise I hadn’t gotten your name,” is Gavin’s answer, and Ryan drops his fork a little in surprise. Thankfully, it’s already close to the plate.

_"Seriously?”_

“Mhm, bit weird, sure. So, what is it?” Gavin asks, and Ryan quickly glances around before his eyes narrow onto Gavin.

“Now I’m suspicious that you are actually going to steal from me.”

“Oh come _on.”_ Gavin deflates, head moving to rest on the back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s Ryan,” he says, still not sure why, why the hell he’s giving his name out, why he’s letting Gavin into his apartment in the first goddamn place.

Gavin lights up, grinning at Ryan. “Sweet!”

His head moves forward again, and he catches sight of what’s on the TV screen. “Oh, is that Destiny?”

“Just grinding for it today,” Ryan says, watching as Gavin glances at the controller on the table.

“Would you uh - Nevermind,” Gavin cuts himself off, waving his hand as if to dismiss his own words.

“You can play,” Ryan offers, gesturing at the controller. “I’m having no luck anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Gavin asks, unsure, but already reaching for the controller.

“Probably not,” Ryan answers truthfully, and Gavin just smiles at him before grabbing the controller.

Gavin’s luck is considerably better than Ryan - having better opportunities in ten minutes than Ryan has had in the past three hours he’s been playing.

Something is bugging Ryan, and it isn’t until he’s looking around that he spots the small bag on his kitchen counter. The one containing those silly sunglasses.

He finishes his meal before he throws the plastic away, then grabs the bag. He dumps it unceremoniously in Gavin’s lap, surprising the other into a series of noises that Ryan has to laugh at.

“What’s in here?” Gavin asks, after calming down, pausing the game and suspiciously glancing between the bag and Ryan.

“A thank-you present for the towel,” Ryan replies, smiling when Gavin just hums at the bag even more suspiciously.   
  
“But the towel _was_ a thank-you present,” Gavin says, confused, but peers into the bag. His eyes light up, and a grin comes over his face.

He pulls out the sunglasses, immediately putting them on. He turns to Ryan with a large smile, the glasses reflecting Ryan’s self. They look even more ridiculous when they’re actually on his face.

“They really highlight how big your nose is,” Ryan says, at the same time that Gavin exclaims “These are top!”

Gavin ignores Ryan’s comment, just smiling at Ryan like he’s given him the moon.

“I’m not even going to question your weird words at this point,” Ryan mumbles, shaking his head fondly.

Gavin seems to ponder something for a moment, smile lessening, but returns even brighter as he seems to figure something out.

“You were expecting that I’d visit!”

“Really wasn’t,” is Ryan’s immediate response to that, pulling a disgruntled face.

“Why else would you have them here at the apartment? Aw, that’s lovely. Sweet lovely Ryan,” Gavin coos, and Ryan groans.

“I can see now they were a terrible idea,” Ryan sighs, joking, but Gavin gasps dramatically.  
  
“These are _lovely,_ Ry! I shall wear them everywhere,” Gavin proudly proclaims, fingers lightly tracing over the golden sides.

“I’m sure you can buy better,” Ryan waves off, and Gavin’s eyebrows furrow, confused.

“But these are a _gift_ , Ry,” he argues, tapping the hinges of the glasses before his hands drop, and his smile returns.

Gavin stays a while longer, going back to playing as Ryan watches on. They end up discussing various food places around, and get into an argument about coin tossing, and Ryan ends up answering about twenty questions (which all start with “If you got a million dollars…”

“You’re not going to give me a million dollars though, so I’m not going to answer that.”

He does anyway, of course.)

It’s almost 10PM by the time the other actually leaves, pausing the game and standing up to stretch.

“This has been well fun, but I do actually now have a bit of work to do. Thanks for letting me play, and thanks for the sunglasses. A wonderful replacement,” Gavin says, and Ryan smiles at him.

Ryan stands up as well, his hand awkwardly reaching out for a handshake, because he’s not quite sure else how to send the other off.

Gavin laughs it off, shaking his hand.

“Thanks again!” He says cheerfully, walking out with a salute.

The sunglasses still look ridiculous on him.

 

* * *

 

Gavin visiting him becomes a common thing.

It’s always on Wednesday afternoons, always around 5:30PM.

One night, Ryan is held back, and he arrives home around 7:00PM instead. Gavin isn’t waiting, thankfully, but when he opens the door he steps on a piece of paper.

_Glenys let me up, she’s lovely! You weren’t home, and I couldn’t stay around, but I’ll be back next week._

There’s a terrible drawing of a stick figure on the bottom with a gigantic nose. Ryan laughs at it, putting the note safely on his kitchen counter.

When Gavin comes over the next week, Ryan gives Gavin his phone number. A different one from his crew phone, with the reasoning that in case either of them can’t do Wednesday, at least they can warn each other.

Gavin lights up with delight and immediately enters in the contact.

Gavin starts to bring around dinner. Take-outs from places around the corner, usually the small Chinese store that Ryan enjoys some nights. Ryan starts saving whatever his neighbours have baked for him to share with Gavin.

Ryan hasn’t kept track of how many weeks it’s been, but he’s pretty sure it’s now around three months. Gavin’s picked up to visiting Sundays as well now, when he can. Ryan’s pretty sure it’s so he can get the fresh cookies from his neighbours.

They’ve met officially now, Gavin and Susan and Glenys. The two adore Gavin, bringing over extra cookies now, and constantly ask about him. And Gavin’s pleasant and charming and the _perfect_ boy (which makes Ryan rolls his eyes, because he’s _seen_ Gavin slob about now). The only time he falters is when they ask if the two of them are dating yet, and Gavin promptly chokes on his cookie. Ryan doesn’t say anything.

During that time, the three months, he’s still seen so little of Gavin actually at work.

But they have a big heist coming up, finally, the result of all the deals they’ve had to make recently, the allies and the enemies. Gavin starts appearing more, and Ryan’s walked into a couple of rooms only to find Michael or Geoff wrestling with him.

The squawks he emits are _ridiculous,_ stupid, and Ryan’s _not_ jealous, not at all, that all the others seem so close to Gavin at work. He knows the mask doesn’t help, and he knows he’s warmed up, softened a hell of a lot, but he still has a very cold and indifferent demeanour for work.

But still, he can’t seem to extinguish the flame of _not jealousy, not jealousy -_

_Totally jealousy._

A couple of weeks before the heist, Gavin comes over and starts talking to Ryan about his job. They’ve both been careful to avoid the topic - Gavin won’t ask Ryan as long as Ryan doesn’t ask, so it works - but Gavin just decides to bring it up one night while they’re marathoning a TV show.

He’s more tired than usual, Ryan notices, glancing over at the man who has sunken into the couch, his half-eaten Pad Thai sitting in his lap. His eyes are looking at the screen, but Ryan’s pretty sure he’s not actually watching it.

“My boi got injured at work today,” Gavin says, quietly.

Ryan hasn’t crossed paths with Michael in about a week, both of them going out for their final big jobs. Michael’s involves blowing a lot of targets up.

Ryan doesn’t know what to ask, so he lets the words linger in the air, prompting Gavin to continue.

“My boi isn’t actually _my_ boy, kind of thing, it’s just a nickname we have between each other,” Gavin defends, and Ryan just nods, wondering why _that_ was what Gavin had decided to elaborate on.

“Is he alright?” Ryan asks, voice tinged with genuine concern. He knows if it was life-threatening he would’ve been contacted, plans would’ve been changed.

“Yeah,” Gavin laughs, sounding slightly bitter. “Bastards found the bomb and ended up tinkering with it and it went off early, and Michael was too close. Just a few hits from the shrapnel, that’s all.”

“Not very good at bomb defusal, then,” is all Ryan can think of to say, but he’s relieved that it seems Michael got away relatively unharmed.

Gavin just scoffs, and they watch the rest of the episode in silence. Ryan glances over at Gavin when the episode ends, and realises the other has promptly gone and _fallen asleep._

The box of noodles is still balanced on his lap, and Ryan is pretty sure they’re going to fall off at any moment. He sits for a moment, considering his options, but decides to get up and wake Gavin in an attempt to save the other’s neck and his couch from the noodles.

The other blearily comes into awareness, and smiles sheepishly. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that.”

His accent is thicker, Ryan notices, and he smiles a little before shaking his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry, just figured it would be comfier for you in your own bed.”

Gavin blinks once, twice, mouth opening and ready to say something. He seems to think better of it, closing his mouth before smiling and nodding.

He shuffles out the door, with Ryan making a mental note to go out and buy some comfier pillows for the couch.

 

* * *

 

Gavin returns on Sunday, looking more tired than Ryan’s ever seen him.

Ryan had given him a key a couple of weeks ago, no longer bothered to go downstairs and fetch the other, but it means Gavin will now sometimes just pop in at the most random of times. He sticks to Wednesdays and Sundays, but the hours can get a bit ridiculous.

It’s midnight when Gavin knocks tentatively at the door, and Ryan answers it with caution before he realised it was Gavin.

“I gave you a key,” Ryan says, letting the other in.

“I know, I just thought you might be asleep-” he’s broken off by his own yawn, and Ryan laughs a little.

“Leaving it a bit late, aren’t you?” Ryan asks with no bite, opening the door and gesturing Gavin in, but Gavin flashes him a guilty look as he walks in.

“I know, ‘m sorry. I’ve been working and I didn’t even mean to come here but I did and it’s closer and I’m literally about to fall asleep standing up, I’m so sorry, you can kick me out but I was kind of hoping I can crash here,” Gavin trails off after his rambling, looking at Ryan hesitantly.

Ryan does his best to smile reassuringly. “Of course.”

Gavin’s smile in return makes Ryan soften completely.

“You can take the bed,” Ryan offers, gesturing to his room. “I’ve crashed on the couch plenty.”

Gavin looks like he’s about to argue, but Ryan just grabs his arm and pulls him along. Gavin stumbles along, too tired to protest, and Ryan gently pushes him towards the bed.

“It’s fine, get some sleep,” Ryan tells him, and Gavin is quick to remove his shoes before collapsing down.

“Thanks, Ry,” Gavin mutters, eyes already drifting shut. Ryan smiles fondly before turning off the light.

The next morning, Gavin shuffles out. Hair everywhere, half of it still styled in the quiff he had for work that he never properly washed out, the other half sticking out in an attempt to defy gravity.

“Morning,” Ryan says, from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Mornin’, sorry about crashing,” Gavin replies, sitting down at the couch hesitantly. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Ryan waves off. Gavin sends him another warm smile.

Gavin’s half dozing and Ryan gets to making coffee, managing to get Gavin’s preferences out of his half mumbled words, before placing it down in front of him.

“I didn’t mean to work so late, but-” Gavin sighs, hands clasped around the mug.

“It happens,” Ryan says.

“We have a big event coming up,” Gavin reveals, his glance not moving from where he’s looking inside the mug.

“My boss, Geoff, is doing his best not to overload me, but it’s still a big job, y’know? Jeremy offered to help, but unfortunately his expertise is not in my field,” Gavin continues, and Ryan’s not sure how he feels about Gavin ‘revealing’ the names of the crew, but he says nothing.

“Maybe someone else could help?” Ryan offers, because they do have another group, B-Team, who constantly help them out. Surely one could lend a hand, he thinks.

“Michael would probably blow up my whole system. Jack’s too busy helpin’ Geoff. And the last guy, he’s uh - probably very busy as well.”

 _Me,_ Ryan realises, _that’s me._

“Probably?” Ryan echoes, and Gavin shrugs.

“I dunno, I don’t think he likes me very much, so I don’t want to ask,” Gavin replies, still staring into his mug.

_You’re an idiot, Gavin Free._

“Oh,” is all Ryan says to that, though. Gavin mumbles out a dismissive reply, letting the topic drop.

They drink their coffee, small conversation coming but not smoothly, and soon enough Gavin is standing up, placing his mug in the sink before going to retrieve his shoes.

“Uh, thank you again, seriously. Saved my neck! Haha, right, anyway, I’ll be off.”

Ryan watches him shut the door behind him, and is left to think all to himself.

He doesn’t dislike Gavin at all, and he frowns at the thought that that’s how he’s come across at work. He gets along well with the others, and recently they’re now comfortable enough to insult him, especially on his flubs. But that’s because he sees them more often during fieldwork, whereas the general extent of his interactions with Gavin is a grunt in the kitchenette when he needs him to move out of the way of the cutlery drawer.

He hadn’t realised Gavin thought that of him, of the Vagabond. It makes something unpleasant twist in his stomach, holding tight, refusing to loosen.

Ryan realises it’s really not Gavin Free that’s an idiot.

 _He’s_ the one who wears a mask constantly, doesn’t show his face, reveal his name. Doesn’t smile or properly laugh when they’re in meetings. Doesn’t interact with Gavin at all, at work. Hasn’t bothered to show that he thinks more of Gavin than the _perfect rich boy_ act he puts on. Hasn’t bothered to show that he, himself, is more than just the Vagabond, ruthless, emotionless.

He wonders how, if, _when,_ Gavin finds out, what their interactions will become. Better, hopefully. Realistically though, he knows, probably more like awkward, stilted, unsure, because they’ve both got their two sides at work and they only share their other side with each other _without_ Gavin even realising it.

The unpleasant feeling twists again in his stomach, and he sighs and throws his head back.

_You’re a total fucking idiot, Ryan Haywood._

 

* * *

 

Gavin texts him on the Tuesday, asking if he can come over.

Ryan gets back to him an hour later, after he’s finished a job, a heavy exhaustion settling into his bones as he gets onto his motorbike, ready to head home.

 **_‘I’ll be late, give me 30’_ ** he texts back to Gavin. It isn’t the first time he’s come back exhausted and Gavin’s there anyway. The other just fills up Ryan’s silences with silly stories of his adventures, usually altered stories of those with Michael, and Ryan finds he doesn’t mind it at all.  

 **_‘Np, I can get some Chinese?’_ ** is the response.

 **_‘Yes please, the usual’_ ** Ryan answers, not bothering to sit on the idea that they know each other’s preferred meals from pretty much every take-out place within two blocks. He gets on the bike, driving home.

The job was way out of town - it wasn’t one necessary for the heist, as they tended to be so close to the actual event, but it was still rather important. Unfortunately for Ryan, his target had run a lot more than he expected, and wow he probably really needed to work on his cardio, but also he was too old for this shit.

He realises he’s starting to think like Geoff, shaking his head as he gets off his bike, taking off his helmet. He’s thankfully not wearing any face-paint, and under his intimidating leather jacket is a plain green shirt, so it’s easy to hide anything Vagabond-like. Gavin’s not waiting out the front of the building, thankfully, meaning he’s either still getting the food or already waiting inside the apartment.

He groans as the elevator jerks upward, his legs feeling sore and ready to sink down to the ground at any moment. The only thing keeping him up is the thought that if he sits down, he’s probably not going to be able to stand up again. He’ll become a shriveled piece of man who just sits in the elevator for the rest of his life.

Gavin’s already inside the apartment, sitting at the small dining table and already has the take-out Chinese laid out. Ryan shoulders off his backpack and sits heavily at the table.

Gavin doesn’t ask why he’s late, just hands him his usual meal in its container.

“So, it’s a Tuesday,” Ryan comments, glancing up to see Gavin’s reaction. The other just shrugs, but Ryan watches the way he twirls the noodles around the fork with no intention to actually eat them.

“Glad you know your days,” Gavin remarks, with a weak attempt of a smile. Ryan pretends to flick some food at him. Gavin, for once, doesn’t squawk or dramatically throw himself sideways to avoid getting ‘hit’. Ryan frowns, but does his best to remain casual.

“There’s - There’s an issue with the job I’m currently on,” Gavin finally says, and Ryan does his best not to look alarmed. They really _don’t_ need any issues so close to the heist.

“A big one?” Ryan asks, but Gavin shakes his head.

He lets out a deep breath before he continues. “Nah, not so big, I guess. I’ve got to go out in the field, though, which I usually don’t do.”

Ryan feels his eyebrows furrow. Tries to think of how to get Gavin to explain why.

“You were out in the ‘field’ the day we met,” Ryan is able to say, thinking back to the day he found Gavin in the bushes. It’s a question he’s had for a while, burning in the back of his mind, but couldn’t think of a way to bring it up. They don’t talk about ask about each other’s jobs.

Gavin hums. “I was, but that took an unexpected turn. We were meant to be talking, but a lot of crap happened and I lost my mask - which was a pretty big deal, but we sorted it out with no issues.”

“Mask?” Ryan asks, because he wasn’t even aware Gavin _owned_ a mask. He’s never seen the other out in the field except for the time he ended up at Ryan’s doorstep.

“I use it when I need to go out, so my identity remains a mystery.” He adds a sort of half-attempted jazz hand for the last word.

“And you need to go out for this job?”

Gavin nods. “It’s a big job, and I realise I need to go out before it to go get some information.”  
  
“Information?”

“I need to get into the computer of a certain person. I can’t send someone else out, because they won’t be able to do it fast enough, and the window is very, incredibly narrow.”

“Can’t wirelessly get into it?”

Gavin shakes his head again, finally shoving some noodles into his mouth before he talks again. “I thought I could, but the security is bloody _hell_ to get through. I need to get on the actual computer.”

“When’re you doing this?”

“Thursday. I realised I had to do it on Sunday, which is kind of when I crashed here,” Gavin replies.

“Will you have help?”

“Everyone’s too busy. It should be an easy job anyway.”

“Everyone?” Ryan pushes, because he _knows_ he doesn’t have a job on Thursday except for the short meeting Geoff’s holding to make sure they have all the proper equipment.

Gavin hesitates. “Yeah,” he mutters, and Ryan just sighs a little and twists his food around his fork again.

“Just make sure you don’t turn up here bleeding again,” Ryan warns, teasing.

Gavin cracks a smile at that, then a little relieved laugh follows. “I’ll try my best, Ry.”

“You better,” he grumbles back.

They sit in comfortable silence, both of them finishing their meals.

Ryan decides that night, when Gavin’s leaving out the door again, that he _needs_ to tell the other man about his identity. Except Ryan knows he won’t see the other until after the job, but he can wait, wait until after the job - maybe even after the heist.

Reasons with himself that he has every intention of revealing to Gavin what’s been going on. _After._ He can do it after, hopefully, when he’s got a rush from the job being a success, when Gavin’s probably drunk as hell and Ryan can escape very quickly from the situation.

After. _After._ Something akin to guilt settles in his stomach. _After Gavin’s job, after the heist._

So it’s a surprise when, that night, he gets a text on his work phone from an unknown number.

**_I need your help, are you free for Thursday?_ **

The text is signed with Gavin’s name.

 

* * *

 

Come Thursday, Ryan meets Gavin at a designated meeting location a couple of blocks away from their target.

Gavin’s sent through the plans, and Ryan’s revised them as much as he can. They have a half hour window to sneak in, and take out the two guards that will be on the floor while the owner of the computer is out in a meeting.

The security in the house is high, and Gavin’s doing his best to disable the alarms from the outside. His mask, Ryan notes, is a simple white one. His clothing is devoid of anything flashy or expensive, just surprisingly casual with black jeans and a long black t-shirt.

“I can guide you on taking out those two guards,” Gavin tells him. “I’ll follow in after you once it’s clear.”

“Sure I can’t just plug the USB in myself?” Ryan asks, making sure his voice is slightly deeper, because now he’s suddenly paranoid that Gavin will be able to recognise his voice.

“The second I plug it in, I have only minutes to work. Not enough time,” Gavin tells him, barely sparing him a glance as he types on his laptop.

“Alright, our guy is finally far enough that if anything does go wrong, we should at least have time to get out without being caught,” Gavin says, and Ryan nods.

The streets are thankfully pretty bare, meaning they don’t have to go and take any detours down any alleys or side-streets to avoid running into people with their masks on. Gavin walks after putting his laptop into his backpack, following behind Ryan.

Gavin pulls out the laptop again, once they’re on the street of the suspicious looking run-down house, leaning against the wall and then flicking on his earpiece, Ryan doing the same.

“‘Ello,” Gavin says, as way of testing it once Ryan’s walked a couple of steps away.

“Hello,” Ryan replies, and Ryan glances back just in time to see Gavin staring at him, the mask staring blankly at him.

Gavin coughs awkwardly. “Right, so, don’t let the horrid appearance deceive you, it’s pretty decked out with security. You’re going to go in through the backdoor, I’ll try and keep eyes on the guards.”

Ryan heads towards the door, opening it once he gets the all clear from Gavin. The inside of the house looks no better than the outside, looking completely abandoned except for the serious amount of beer bottles and rubbish spread across the tabletops.

He’s entered through to the kitchen area, and Gavin guides him carefully forward.

“Okay, the first guy is in the lounge room. The other guard isn’t close enough to see, but they’re close enough to hear anything too loud.”

Ryan nods, unsure if Gavin can see it or not through the cameras, and moves forward. He’s memorised the layout, crouching carefully behind the wall that separates the kitchen from the lounge room.

“Wait,” Gavin tells him, and Ryan does so for about a minute. His legs are getting sore, his knees aching from the position, and he’s worried that if he needs to spring up and move his legs are just going to get tangled up with each other. He’s too old, really.

 _Focus,_ he snaps at himself, as Gavin starts to hum impatiently.

“Okay, his back is to you,” Gavin confirms, and Ryan immediately moves forward, thankful his legs work with him.

He takes down the guard with minimal fuss. The next guard goes the same.

“Alright, I’m coming in,” Gavin says, and Ryan takes the time to stretch out his muscles. He’s moving the guards to the bathroom when Gavin opens the door carefully.

“We’re goin’ to have about ten minutes before the alarm goes off when I plug in, another five before anyone should get here,” Gavin mentions as he walks in, making his way to the room. Ryan follows behind.

 _Should_ is a dangerous game, and Ryan is already discarding those five minutes. They have ten minutes from when Gavin plugs in to the computer, as far as Ryan’s concerned, and they need to get out as soon as those ten minutes are up.

Ryan stands by the door as Gavin does his work, staying alert and watching carefully for any sign of movement.

For two minutes, he stands like that. All is going well for those two minutes.

Then the alarms start.

“Bollocks!” Gavin cries out, and Ryan whips around to see a wide-eyed Gavin staring at the screen.

“The fuck did you do?” Ryan growls out, annoyed, because _damnit not even five minutes._

The words jolt Gavin, who quickly glances up at Ryan then his eyes narrow, focusing back on his screen.

“I can still get what I need, give me ten minutes,” Gavin tells him, and Ryan can barely hear him over the blaring alarm that the computer is emitting, the house alarm that’s now also going.

“Damnit,” Ryan mutters, annoyed because he’s really not fond of surprises. Used to them now, sure, after having joined the crew and learning of their particular fondness for making up shit on the spot.

But still, annoyed.

He leaves the doorway of the room, moving quickly to the front door and glancing out the peep hole. He sets the deadlock, but he knows that sure as hell isn’t going to stop anyone.

There’s no sign of anyone coming for about eight minutes. Ryan does his best to lock up anything he can, except for the exit door that’s closest to the room Gavin is in. They might be able to sneak back out, if no one comes in time.

Unfortunately for Ryan, who seems to have the shittiest luck in the world, people come in time.

Two vans worth of people.

“Gavin, we have company!” Ryan yells out. They have one explosive with them, in Gavin’s backpack - intended for blowing the place when they were done with it. He runs for the backpack, his hand rifling through its contents before he is able to get his hand around the grenade.

_One chance, one chance to at least stop some of them._

He opens the front door, immediately taking cover behind the doorframe. He peeks out, seeing the movement from the vans, and quickly unpins the grenade, taking another look before hauling it at the vans.

He falls a bit short, but he’s lucky enough that some of them were already moving forward. It doesn’t take out nearly enough for him to feel satisfied, but still, it’s better than none.

About ten more come forward, and he’s able to shoot two down before he’s forced to cover behind the doorframe again.

Shoots down another as he comes up the stairs. The one behind him ducks out of the way just in time. Ryan grunts, frustrated, trying to glance out the doorframe but having to duck back as soon as bullets whizz by.

He knows the remaining ones will try and come in from both doors, to surround him, so he does his best to stop the ones at the front door. He’s able to get two of them - another two to go on this side.

He’s running out of bullets, though. Gavin has his own gun, but it’s with him, and Ryan takes another shot at the two outside. One, thankfully, goes down with a shot to the leg. The other takes a couple of shots to hit, but eventually goes down.

There’s still the other door to deal with, and Ryan knows he definitely doesn’t have enough bullets for them, and the only choice available to him is running back to Gavin and getting that other gun.

He’s too slow making it to the door, though, as it bursts open right as he goes to run past the kitchen.

He’s able to shoot down the first one that comes through, the man behind him stumbling over the body. Ryan goes to shoot, but the gun clicks. Empty.

Cursing, he goes to tackle the man, the other hitting the wall. Ryan grunts at the impact, quickly stepping back and going for a punch, but the blow lands short of where Ryan had intended, missing the jaw and landing at the neck.

It’s still a blow, though, and the other man immediately reels, coughing. Ryan takes the opportunity to punch again, this time getting the man where he had intended, but takes another couple until the man eventually goes down.

The delay has allowed for the last man to slip by Ryan, immediately rushing to the room Gavin is in.

Ryan stumbles, regaining his balance, his heart seeming to stop when he hears a small explosion. It’s not until he’s running to the room does it dimly register the noise was too small to be a grenade, but his pace doesn’t slow.

A gunshot fires, and then another. When Ryan gets to the room, he sees that it’s covered in a thick layer of smoke - _a smoke grenade -_ and that the gunshots aren’t coming just from the man he can vaguely see silhouetted at the entrance.  
  
“Don’t shoot!” Ryan yells, hoping Gavin gets the message, as he goes to tackle the man that he can vaguely make out in the smoke.

The man is too big to be Gavin, and he’s definitely too sturdy as Ryan attempts to tackle the man. He goes down heavily, and Ryan considers the idea that _maybe_ this isn’t his greatest idea, considering he can barely see the man under him, can’t see what weapons he has.

So he listens, and it sounds like a gun skidding across the floor at least. The man under him is immediately struggling, and Ryan goes for a few quick blows on the head to stop it.

There’s a wild coughing coming now from Gavin, and Ryan breathes in relief that at least the other is alright.

“Get up, we’re going!” Ryan shouts, because he doesn’t doubt there’s more reinforcements.

“Y-Yep!” Gavin manages between coughs, and Ryan is able to blindly stumble towards the source of the coughing to find the other man.

“Did you get what you need?” Ryan asks, thanking the fact that his mask at least has some recently upgraded air filters and ventilator built in. He’s been smoked out one too many times, thank you.

Gavin just replies with coughing, and Ryan frowns. He can feel the other hunched over, his eyes probably streaming. Ryan takes a moment to consider, but he’s really not doing well on the whole thinking clearly department. He’s tired, his muscles hurt, and he’s already sick of being in this stupid place.

So he doesn’t really think when he quickly takes off his own mask, bringing his jacket up to cover his own mouth and nose, and passes Gavin the mask.

"Put it on, take some breaths and finish up,” Ryan instructs, the smoke already getting in and breaking up his words.

It takes a couple of moments, but eventually Gavin’s raspy breathing stops and the coughing subsides. He can sense the other man fumbling around, and can see the glow of the screen, getting clearer as the smoke disappears.

Ryan searches for the gun that Gavin has placed down in order to work, thankfully finding it before his eyes are overwhelmed with water. He gets out as soon as possible, expecting Gavin to follow.

As he suspected, more backup arrives just as Gavin steps up beside him.

“Let’s go,” Ryan huffs, voice raspy from the smoke. Gavin, thankfully, follows quickly behind as Ryan goes out the backdoor.

“Make a run for it, I don’t think they’ve seen us. The smoke should distract them if it lasts long enough,” Gavin suggests, in his own raspy and breathless voice, and Ryan just nods.

His lungs are on fire, his throat is killing him, and his mouth and nose are doing no better, and everything _sucks,_ but he makes a break for it. Gavin is right beside him, and they manage to make it to one of the side streets.

They slow down, checking behind them, but it seems they escaped in time. Ryan sighs in relief, taking the moment to bend over and try and recover his breathing with his hands on his knees. His eyes are still streaming, ruining his facepaint, and he realises with sudden panic that he never got his mask back.

He doesn’t look up, because he knows even with the facepaint he’s at risk of being recognised. Thoughts fly through his head, mostly consisting of “ _shit fuck what am I going to do, how will Gavin take me being the guy who gives him his neighbours’ cooking and a place to sleep despite avoiding me at work-”_

“We should get moving,” Gavin gently prompts, and Ryan just holds up a hand in a _wait_ gesture.

Strangely, Ryan feels a hand on his back, softly patting it.

Too caught up, he fails to notice that Gavin has leaned over, to look at him in concern. Ryan meets his eyes in the corner of his own, and reels back in shock at his sudden appearance.

“Christ!” Gavin yelps, just as shocked as Ryan was a few moments ago.

He’s managed to stumble back until he promptly fell on his ass. Both of them stare dumbfoundedly at each other for a moment, unsure of how to take in the situation.

And then Ryan sees the exact second that Gavin realises, because his arm that had been reaching out to Ryan stops, suddenly, jolting back.

He can’t see Gavin’s reaction because of the mask, but it’s not hard to imagine. He’s accidentally scared Gavin a couple of times when he appears in rooms, Gavin defending himself by saying that Ryan just fits in with the shadows too well.

“R- _Ryan?”_ Gavin asks, his voice sounding just as breathless as he had been back with the smoke. Ryan just continues to stare, because what the fuck else is he _meant to do?_ That’s it, he’s blown it, all because of some stupid ass smoke grenade.

Which prompts him to say the first thing to come to mind, which is: “Why the fuck did you set off a smoke grenade?”  
  
Gavin huffs, his arm lingering before dropping to his side. He regards Ryan for a few seconds before speaking.

“Because I somehow end up with better shooting accuracy if no one can see. That might be because it takes double the time for those guys to find me though.” Gavin laughs, weakly, and Ryan just nods because alright, sure, fair enough, that’s probably why Gavin’s not really in the field.

He really just doesn’t want to think that now Gavin knows exactly who he is, knows the other side of the mask, and it’s terrifying because _no one_ knows it. And now here Gavin is, who knows Ryan like the back of his hand at this point, and yet knows the Vagabond so _little_.

Not afraid to take his shoes off and throw them at Ryan, not afraid to just make himself comfortable whenever and wherever, not afraid to settle right in to Ryan’s life. And yet afraid to even _speak_ to the Vagabond, let alone do any of those things.

“I can’t - _what the buggering hell,”_ Gavin gasps, shaking his head like that will somehow clear it. He sounds like he’s freaking out, and Ryan is trying his best to squash all instinct to just reach other and run his fingers through the other man’s hair to calm him.

“Gavin, we have to move,” Ryan says, standing up. Right, mission, focus on the mission. Not on this mess. They aren’t in the clear just yet, after all.

Gavin nods after a pause, then turns and walks stiffly back to their meeting location. Ryan lingers behind, thankful that at least Gavin is avoiding main roads and running into anyone.

When they get back to their meeting point, Gavin just takes off Ryan’s mask and hands it back without a word.

Ryan, with his lungs still burning and his throat still hurting, can’t push any words out either. So they go their separate ways in silence, leaving Gavin to finish off his end of the job.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Ryan gets a knock on the door around 10:00PM.

He’s bone tired, and no amount of water has quite gotten his throat back to normal, but he forces himself up and to the door. He’s got some painkillers in his system, and he has to take a moment to realise that he hasn’t actually taken something else instead. Because there’s Gavin, standing at his door.

“Can I come in?” Gavin asks, and Ryan jerkily nods before opening the door.

“You usually don’t ask,” Ryan replies, wincing when his voice comes out gruffer than he meant to.

“Yes, well, I didn’t have to ask _before_ I found out you were the bloody Vagabond,” Gavin snaps back, but the fight seems to leech out of him immediately. He sags forward, then sits himself down on a chair.

Not the couch, like usual, but Ryan will take anything.

“So, did the job get done?” Ryan questions, when it seems like neither of them really know what to say.

Gavin nods. “I have what we need, so it’s all good there.”

Ryan feels like he’s just bobbing his head up and down ridiculously, like one of those stupid bobble-head toys, and looks like a fool. Gavin doesn’t seem to notice, though, staring intently at the table he’s sat at instead.

Gavin takes a deep breath, and Ryan steadies himself.

“I can’t believe the Vagabond wears dad-jeans,” is not what Ryan expects to hear, but today has just been full of surprises.

Ryan splutters quite a bit, but when he regains himself he notices there’s a slight amused hitch to Gavin’s mouth. So he doesn’t really mind all that much, maybe.

“I can’t believe the Golden Boy likes trash reality TV shows,” Ryan fires back, because he really isn’t sure what else to say.

Gavin turns to face him, looking a lot more relaxed now. He’s grinning, slightly. “Dad jeans. On the Vagabond. With those mingin’ black shoes.”

“ _Hey!”_

Gavin laughs, and Ryan joins in after a second. The tension, the awkwardness in the air is very quickly dissolving. Moving from the Vagabond and the Golden Boy being together, to instead just being Ryan and Gavin.

“And gets cakes and cookies from his neighbours,” Gavin laughs, and Ryan jabs a finger at him.

“Like you don’t enjoy them more than me,” Ryan retaliates, and Gavin hums over the thought for a second before nodding.

“This… this is definitely not what I ever expected,” Gavin finally says, after silence has settled back around them.

“To enjoy cakes and cookies this much?” Ryan asks, and Gavin smiles but shakes his head.

“To ever learn about the Vagabond, I guess. Especially without ever _realising.”_

“It was probably the dad jeans that threw you off there,” Ryan offers.

Gavin nods seriously. “You’re right. I’ll never trust them again.”

Silence, again, as both of them think. Gavin is swinging one of his legs back and forth, and Ryan watches the repetitive motion.

“I hope…” Ryan starts, but falters. He hasn’t thought these words through enough, they’re dumb and don’t make sense and -

“Hope?” Gavin questions, once Ryan has been silently freaking out a bit too long.

“I hope this… changes your perception of the Vagabond, but not of _me_.” Ryan gets out, then frowns when he fails to understand his own words at first.

 _No, no, they make sense,_ he reassures himself as Gavin seems to mull over the words. _It’s fine, he’ll get it._

“I don’t think I can ever now picture the Vagabond without the dad jeans,” Gavin says, a small smile still playing at his lips. Ryan huffs, kind of in relief.

“I still can’t believe this, though,” Gavin mentions, and Ryan just waits for Gavin to continue.

“I can’t believe you got away with being like _this_ and just - I had no clue. I was so damn terrified of the Vagabond, and yet here you are, being one of the least terrifying people I’ve ever met. What the _hell.”_ Gavin groans, bringing a hand to his head.

“And you didn’t tell me!” Gavin suddenly bursts out, pointing an accusatory finger at Ryan. “I thought all our dinner dates would’ve at least meant _something,_ right?”

“I mean, they did,” Ryan hurriedly defends, because they definitely meant _something._ Maybe not ‘tell the guy I’m his creepy, weird coworker’ kind of something, but definitely _something._

“And yet….”

“Look, bringing up the idea that I’m the Vagabond just didn’t seem like proper table etiquette. I was being polite. Formal. A good house host.”

“Hiding that fact is exactly the opposite of all those things,” Gavin argues, and Ryan just waves his hands around, unable to form words.

“All a matter of your perspective,” Ryan mutters, and Gavin gives him a blank stare.

“No, treating my wounds and then letting me come over and order food, and then eat it on your couch, and play all your games, and then give me a _key,_ all the while knowing and _hiding_ the fact that you’re the Vagabond, despite me bringing you up in bloody conversation! Now that, in fact, is just bad etiquette.”

“I mean, fair,” is all Ryan can really say to it.   
  
“I see now why you don’t bring over anyone except your two lovely neighbours.”

“And apparently people that bleed all over my towels,” Ryan fires back, and sees Gavin doing his best to repress a laugh.

“And then buy you new ones! I thought we went over this!”

“Sure sure, but now you know that you bled all over the _Vagabond’s_ towels.”

“No, now all I know is that you had all the damn money in the world to buy better towels yourself, but yet refused to do so.”

“Leave my decor out of this.” Ryan waves his hands around, purposely avoiding looking at the questionable abstract art that hung on his wall.

“I can’t believe the bloody _Vagabond_ has the worst coloured towels I’ve ever seen. And neighbours that bring him cheesecake and cookies. And the fact that he has horrid fashion sense.”

“Stop insulting me!”

Gavin throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Your clothes are the insult here,” Gavin mumbles petulantly, and Ryan sighs.

Ryan moves to the kitchen, Gavin watching closely as he moves to make himself a cup of coffee.

“Tea?” Ryan asks, already moving to get out another mug.

“Please,” Gavin responds, then laughs abruptly. “How _domestic_ of us.”

“Are you saying that the Fake AH Crew _can’t_ be domestic?” Ryan questions.

“I’m saying it’s dumbly domestic for the two of us to be discussing things over a bloody coffee date.”

“Well, you’re having tea, also we’re not out at a cafe, so does it count as a coffee date?”

Gavin hums. “I guess not, then.”

As Ryan pours the drinks, Gavin pipes up again. “So, why _didn’t_ you tell me?”

Ryan doesn’t answer until he’s given Gavin his drink and has sat down across from Gavin, his own drink in front of him.

“Because it never really came up?” Ryan tries, and Gavin huffs.

“It did, when I mentioned stories. Surely you knew the actual details of some,” Gavin answers, and Ryan just takes a sip of his still too-hot coffee. He winces, setting the mug back down.

“Of course. But it was just kind of hard to bring up after you had already visited once, then twice, and I just didn’t know how to bring it up from there,” Ryan admits, and Gavin just contemplatively takes a sip of his tea.

“So were you just never going to take off your mask then? Ever?”

Ryan licks his lips, uncertain.

"I’m not sure,” he answers, because he had considered it before, before this mess with Gavin, because he really does trust the crew now.

Gavin’s lips twist unhappily, and Ryan’s stomach does the same.

“I think that I just didn’t want to… disrupt this side of my life. I didn’t want the Vagabond to go ruining what _I_ have here,” Ryan ends up saying, the words coming out in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that had overcome the room.

“And what’s that? Bad towels?”

“ _You,_ dumbass,” Ryan snaps back, then immediately realises what he’s said and his eyes widen, feels his cheeks go warm. “And stop insulting my towels,” Ryan adds, trying to cover up his previous words.

Gavin takes another sip of the tea. Ryan doesn’t miss the way the other is reflecting his own state - cheeks and tips of his ears slightly red, eyes wide as he seems to think over the words.

Gavin clears his throat as he sets the mug down. “Oh.”

“I mean,” Ryan begins, trying to rectify the situation, “it’s not like the Vagabond and Golden Boy interact. At all. But we, Ryan and Gavin, _do.”_

"Stupidly domestically, too,” Gavin adds, and Ryan laughs.

“It-” Gavin falters, thinking over his next words. “You being the Vagabond doesn’t ruin that.”

“You’re sitting here instead of on the couch,” Ryan points out, and Gavin glances guiltily over at the couch.

“It is weird,” Gavin admits. His fingers are tapping idly on the side of his mug, and Ryan focuses on that as he waits for Gavin to speak again.

“Alright, how about we try this again?” Gavin asks, his focus moving from the couch to Ryan. Ryan meets his eyes a moment later.

Gavin extends his hand. “I’m Gavin Free, Golden Boy of the Fake AH, and I’m glad I bled all over your stupid towels.”

Ryan shakes his hand, grinning stupidly. “Ryan Haywood, Vagabond of the Fake AH, and I’m going to snap your stupid glasses in half if you keep up with the towel ordeal.”

Gavin gasps dramatically. “Ryan, you bought these for me!”

“I will go out and buy some more ugly coloured towels then.”

Ryan laughs as Gavin just gives him a sincerely unimpressed look. And he’s _glad_ that they’re joking around, any awkward air having disappeared, and feels like a fool for having worried about his two lives interacting.

“How about, instead,” Gavin proposes, his voice confident but his fingers having nervously returned to tapping his mug give him away, “you take _me_ out for that coffee date.”

Ryan’s brain abruptly stops.

“I mean it’s really stupidly domestic and we could probably just go out and set off some fireworks and create some havoc instead, really piss off the new police chief -”

“Coffee,” Ryan manages to get out, stopping Gavin’s nervous rambling. “Coffee sounds good.”

Gavin smiles, relaxed now. Ryan can’t help but dumbly smile right back.

“But why limit ourselves here? How about creating havoc and _then_ having a coffee?” Ryan suggests, watching as Gavin lights up.

“I think it’s a date, Ryan Haywood.”  

And really, ultimately, Ryan can’t even deny that he’s pretty damn glad that Gavin had actually bled over his towels all those months ago.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to Jos for checking over and motivating my ass to write <3


End file.
